


Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [119]
Category: Blandings Castle - P. G. Wodehouse, Primeval, WODEHOUSE P. G. - Works
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: With a circus nearby, an escaped lion seems like as good a cover story as any. But the locals aren’t easily fooled, despite appearances to the contrary.





	Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!

A high-pitched noise blared out of the speakers around the ARC, signalling another anomaly shout.

Ryan repressed the urge to groan. He’d only just finished writing up the report of the last one, and he was getting fed up of things that he wasn’t allowed to shoot and certainly couldn’t spell. He broke into a run, just in time to hear Lester’s reaction to Connor’s latest piece of creative programming.

“What in the name of glory is that racket?” The ARC Director’s voice echoed down from above like an irate deity woken from eons of slumber

“The Hampster Dance!” Connor replied, unmoved as ever by criticism. “It’s retro!”

“It’s bloody annoying!”

“Do you want me to go back to the Dambusters’ Theme?” Despite his casual attitude, Connor’s fingers were already flying over the keyboard, checking that there had been no malfunction and bringing up the location details. “Or how about Jingle Bells?”

“It’s February!” Lester’s tone of total disgust spoke volumes, and would no doubt be the prelude to yet another memo banning Christmas. Lester liked to get his retaliation in early.

“Got it!” Connor announced. The main ADD screen was already homing in on a location in what looked to be the depths of rural Shropshire.

Ryan looked up. “Permission to take the helicopter, sir? It’ll be the first time this month.”

“Your restraint has been admirable, Captain.”

“We’ll take that as a yes, James,” Cutter remarked, arriving at Ryan’s side with Stephen on his heels. “Where’re we off to this time, lad?”

“Market Blandings,” Connor said, followed by, “Yay, Big Bird!” His fondness for hitching a ride on their £5.5 million Eurocopter EC155 was well known.

Ryan thumbed his radio to an open channel. “Code Red,” he said, issuing the order that told everyone on call to drop what they were doing and head for the heli pad.

Their pilot, Gareth Walsh, came into the atrium at a run, the slight limp caused by having lost a foot to an IED in Helmand Province barely noticeable. He looked up at Lester and grinned. “No point in having me on the payroll and keeping the bird on the ground, guv.”

“We can discuss the fuel bill another time, Mr Walsh!” Lester’s disapproving voice followed them out of the atrium and was drowned out by the clatter of boots on the floor.

*****

“What do we know about Market Blandings?” Cutter asked when they were airborne, flashing past the countryside beneath them at a satisfactorily fast pace.

Connor, laptop already in its customary place on his knees, started to read from the screen in a put-on posh voice: “The village of Market Blandings is one of those sleepy hamlets which modern progress has failed to touch... The church is Norman, and the intelligence of the majority of the natives palaeozoic.”

“Where did you get that from?” Abby asked, laughter dancing in her eyes.

“TripAdvisor.” Connor continued scrolling down the page. “I don’t think the Smythe family from West Sussex thought it lived up to their expectations.” A moment later, he announced, “It’s got twelve pubs!”

“Now you’re talking!” Kermit yelled from the back.

“Where’s the anomaly?” Ryan peered over Connor’s shoulder to get a look at the map.

“In the middle of the village green, by the look of it.”

Claudia winced. “Did you catch that, Jamie?” she said, talking to their newly-appointed police liaison office on loudspeaker on her phone.

“Yep,” the young DI said. “I’m expecting a call back from one of the local guys. I’ll get them to keep an eye on it and keep everyone else out of the way. We’ll have the place in lockdown before you get there.”

“Get a couple of vehicles on standby in case we need them,” Ryan said.

“Anything else?”

“No reporters,” Claudia said firmly.

“Consider it done. Got to go, call coming in… I’ll get back to you.”

The remainder of the flight was taken up with a briefing from Connor that consisted of chunks from Wikipedia, the Good Ale Guide, the Britain in Bloom website (Market Blandings had come second last year in a closely fought grudge match against the improbably named Upton Snodsbury). Connor also provided several print outs from Google Maps that were passed around and quickly memorised. Jamie Cross had contacted the local coppers who had so far reported nothing untoward. The presence of a travelling circus in the grounds of nearby Blandings Castle was currently being used as a cover story, the locals having been warned to stay inside due to an escaped lion. The fact that the circus didn’t even possess a lion was nothing more than a minor inconvenience that Claudia refused to allow to get in the way of an otherwise decent lie.

Stephen slipped into the seat next to Ryan and said softly, “OK, soldier boy?”

Ryan gave his lover’s hand a quick squeeze. “Twelve pubs. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Pub printout coming next!” Connor called.

Stephen grabbed one of the sheets of paper and started to read off the names: “The Emsworth Arms, Beetle and Wedge, the Blue Boar, the Blue Cow, the Blue Dragon, the Cow and Grasshopper, the Goat and Feathers, the Goose and Gander, the Jolly Cricketers, the Stitch in Time, the Wheatsheaf, and the Waggoner's Rest. Bloody hell, most places can’t keep one pub going, let alone twelve.”

“The castle’s one of Shropshire’s most popular tourist attractions,” Claudia said. She’d been looking up the village on her phone, just to make sure Connor wasn’t winding them up. “They get coach loads of visitors in summer.”

“Good job it’s February,” Nick said. “Cheer up, it’ll be fine.”

“Don’t jinx us, Nick, please.”

“No such thing,” Cutter said airily. “Despite what my nan used to say.”

“Arriving in ten,” Gareth Walsh called. “Do you want me to take a pass around before we land?”

From the air, the castle was impressive stately pile with an eclectic mix of square towers, round towers and battlements thrown together haphazardly. Ryan wasn’t an expert on castles, but this one looked more decorative than defensive and was certainly nowhere near as old as the squat Norman church on the outskirts of the sprawling village. They could see a cluster of vans and tents outside the castle walls that housed the travelling circus and a few fairground rides, including a tall helter-skelter.

“I’m going to put us down on the cricket pitch,” Walsh said.

It was Cutter’s turn to wince, but he relaxed after Walsh had executed one of his trademark smooth landings that barely dented the turf.

Cutter and Claudia led the way across the smooth expanse of green grass to the white-painted pavilion where a uniformed copper was waiting for them. The man looked like he was in his late-40s, with a round face and slightly florid complexion that made Ryan wonder how many of his off-duty hours were spent in the village’s numerous pubs.

“Claudia Brown, Home Office. I’m here with a team from DEFRA who’ll be leading the hunt for the lion.”

The man looked puzzled. “Thistlethwaite’s Circus don’t own a lion, ma’am. Beggin’ your pardon, but we just assumed that was nowt more than a cover story. You’ll be here for the ball of light, I’m guessing.”

Cutter and the rest of the team kept commendably straight faces while the normally unflappable Claudia looked momentarily lost for words.

The police officer winked. “We’ve kept everyone away. Nearly had a problem with Lady Emsworth’s poodle, but PC Beach managed to grab him before ‘e got too close. I’m Sergeant Baxter, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Cutter said, shaking the sergeant’s hand. “Professor Nick Cutter, Central Metropolitan University.”

“Professor Cutter is the leading expert on ball lightning,” Claudia said, improvising madly.

Sergeant Baxter nodded. “That’s a better one, ma’am. That one’ll do nicely. Nasty stuff, ball lighting. Lord Emsworth had a spot o’ bother with that last year on the south tower. Blew the lightning conductor clean up it did.” He glanced over at the boxes Ryan’s team were unloading from the helicopter. “Expecting a spot of bother, ma’am?”

“Better to be safe than sorry, sergeant,” Claudia said, walking briskly across the cricket pitch with the policeman at her side.

Cutter gave Ryan an amused look and they fell into step behind her.

To Ryan’s relief, there seemed to be few people on the village streets, but plenty of curtains were twitching as they made their way to the village green. The village was a mix of brick and thatch and there were flowers everywhere, and by everywhere, Ryan meant… everywhere. Flowers burst out of hanging baskets, flowed off windowsills, jostled for space in pots of every conceivable size and shape and positively flung themselves around every garden with gay abandon.

As they walked, Baxter’s airwave radio crackled into life. Ryan couldn’t quite make out what the metallic voice said but Baxter, his voice suddenly more businesslike than the yokel vibe he’d first given off responded with, “With you in two minutes, just leave it well alone.”

Ryan exchanged a concerned look with Stephen, who promptly slung his tranquilliser rifle off his shoulder and carried it across his chest. The team was equipped with both conventional weapons and EMPs, and both Stephen and Abby liked to make sure that they had their old favourites to hand.

Baxter broke into a run, Claudia at his side, with Ryan and the rest of the team on their heels.

“Did they saw what it looks like?” Cutter demanded.

“Said if he wasn’t much mistaken, it looks like a juvenile diplodocus.” In response to Claudia’s somewhat undignified squawk of surprise, the sergeant added, “PC Beach’s little lad is mad keen on dinosaurs. Went on a school trip to the Natural History museum last week. Came back ravin’ about them. Wanted a pet stegosaurus.”

“He might get one at this rate,” Connor panted.

The group rounded a corner and found themselves on the edge of a large, square swathe of bright green grass bounded by innumerable wooden half-barrels filled with a dazzling array of flowering plants in every conceivable colour. In the middle of the green, as gaudy as a giant Christmas tree bauble, hung the twinkling light of an anomaly. In front of it, looking like it was enjoying every mouthful, stood a baby sauropod, its slender neck gracefully bowed as it bent its small head to the serious business of ruining Market Blandings bid to strip Upton Snodsbury of its hard-won title.

“Don’t startle it!” Abby ordered.

Everyone came to an abrupt halt. Connor cannoned into Cutter’s back, and only stayed on his feet with the help of Kermit, who grabbed the back of his waistcoat and yanked him upright.

“We need to get it back before mother comes through,” Cutter said urgently. “I doubt she’ll be far behind.”

“Old man Thistlethwaite’ll be after him for the circus,” Baxter said admiringly.

“Looks just like they do in our Alfie’s books,” a fresh voice said.

Ryan presumed the young copper who didn’t look old enough to be out without his mum was PC Beach.

Four of the village’s twelve pubs were situated on each side of the village green. From where he was standing, Ryan could see the Emsworth Arms, the Beetle and Wedge, the Blue Dragon and the Cow and Grasshopper. And each one had a load of punters crowded around the doors, pints in hand. Claudia was going to have her work cut out keeping a lid on this one. He could see mobile phones being held up and snaps and videos being taken.

“Diplodocus is right,” Connor said. “What a little beauty!”

“What’s the plan, Professor?” Ryan asked. Their priority was the creature. The onlookers could wait.

“Try herding him slowly and steadily back to the anomaly. Don’t rush it, just take it gently. Only knock it out of there’s absolutely no other choice. Its weight will make breathing difficult if it’s out for the count.”

“Kermit, Finn, go right. Ditz, Blade, go left. Stephen, you’re with me. Abby, see if you can predict what it’s going to do. OK, move…”

As his men fanned out, following his orders, Ryan let his lover take point, trusting Stephen’s animal experience over his own. Step by step, they gained ground. The young diplodocus carried on munching, oblivious to their approach. As they passed one of the barrels of flowers, Stephen pulled a knife out of its sheath and put another dent in Market Blandings title hopes as he cut a large bunch of flowers.

“Do I get choccies as well?” Ryan murmured.

“Only if I’m on a promise…”

“You’re always on a promise.”

The diplodocus finally looked up.

“Everyone stay still,” Abby ordered, her voice coming clearly through everyone’s radio earpieces. “Stephen, hold the flowers out to him to see if you can get his interest. The breeze is blowing from him to you, so he probably can’t smell you yet. Just try not to spook him.”

Ryan stayed still as Stephen took a step forward, then another, the bunch of flowers held out in front of him.

The diplodocus tilted its head to one side, staring at Stephen out of round dark eyes.

Stephen slowly waved the flowers to attract the creature’s attention.

It leaned forward, sniffing the air, then plucked half of the flowers out of Stephen’s outstretched hand and started to munch them.

“More,” Stephen murmured.

Ryan pulled his knife out of his leg sheath and proceeded to further deflate Market Blandings’ title hopes. He took a slow step forward and handed over the flowers then retreated a pace.

The diplodocus took another mouthful of flowers from Stephen’s hand.

Stephen took a step to one side, clearly hoping to get the curious creature to follow him, and so turn it back towards the anomaly. The long neck craned around, but the diplodocus kept all four large feet firmly rooted to the village green. Stephen waved the flowers slowly in the air and took another step towards the anomaly.

The diplodocus raised one foot and looked like it was about to make a move when a volley of barking broke out in front of one of the pubs and something large and white came barrelling towards them across the grass.

Above the racket, Ryan heard Sergeant Baxter say, “Oh shit, beggin’ your pardon. ma’am, it’s Lady Emsworth’s blasted poodle again…”

Despite the rapidly deteriorating situation, Ryan had to stifle a grin. Claudia hated it when men apologised for swearing in front of her.

The diplodocus’ head went up, its nostrils flaring. The poodle ran straight between the creature’s tree-trunk sized legs, still barking. That set the seal on the diplodocus’ alarm and it broke into a lumbering run that put it on collision course with Kermit and Finn.

The two young soldiers promptly started to wave their arms about and yell, in the hope of turning the alarmed diplodocus back on its tracks. The poodle cavorted around their legs, barking loudly.

A shrill whistle from in front of the Emsworth Arms did absolutely nothing to bring the dog back under control.

“Someone grab the bloody dog!” Cutter yelled.

Finn tried, but even his lightning-fast sniper’s reaction time wasn’t any match for a very large, very hyperactive poodle intent on causing as much mayhem as possible. The diplodocus turned and started to head along the edge of the green towards a large duck pond in front of the Beetle and Wedge, whose patrons displayed their instinct for survival by retreating inside and watching from the large bay windows.

Kermit tried to bring the dog down with a flying tackle but failed. The poodle shot away, snapping at the young dinosaur’s heels, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the long tail. The diplodocus stomped into the middle of the large duck pond, which provided some temporary relief as Lady Emsworth’s poodle was not a lover of water. The dog stood on the edge, barking madly.

Finn and Kermit, not to be out done by an over-large piece of towel-origami brought to life, flung themselves at the dog. Kermit ended up with an armful of irate poodle and Finn narrowly avoided falling face down in the pond.

A large woman, dressed from head to toe in a mix of non-matching Burberry tartan, advanced across the green, a stern look on her face that reminded Ryan rather forcibly of the headmistress in his junior school who was capable of turning an unruly class of kids to stone with one Gorgon glance.

“Whiffle!” The cultured voice would have beaten any drill sergeant of Ryan’s acquaintance for both volume and ferocity.

Finn did his best to obey the order, and ended up sounding like a strangled parrot.

“Whiffle!”

Kermit came up with a similar noise whilst still holding the wriggling dog in check. Neither could have really been described as a wiffle.

“Whiffle!”

Stephen made a much better attempt, clearly copying the noises he claimed Ryan made in bed. Ryan shot him a threatening glance that rolled off his lover like water off a dinosaur’s back.

The dog finally stopped wriggling and took on the sheepish air that Ryan’s men usually wore after causing some wholly avoidable damage to the national heritage. Finn and Kermit were already sporting the same look. Stephen was grinning like a bloody cat.

The woman, who Ryan presumed was Lady Emsworth herself, turned to Stephen and was promptly ensnared by blue eyes and long black eyelashes. “Young man, you appear to be the only one with any sense around here! Kindly order those to idiots to unhand my poor dog!”

“He doesn’t seem to like the dinosaur, ma’am,” Stephen ventured.

“Nonsense, that’s just his way of showing affection! Heel!”

Kermit and Finn came obligingly to attention with commendable parade ground polish, despite the grass strains on their black uniforms. At least Ryan hoped the stains were from grass. The dog wriggled free and ran to his mistress’s side, sitting down and wagging its pompom tail, leaving Ryan wondering if he could sign Lady Emsworth up to do some instructing at Hereford.

Cutter walked up, completely failing to keep the amusement off his face, despite the potential PR disaster unfolding around them, caught on innumerable mobile phones and probably being uploaded to the internet even faster than Claudia could produce the inevitable copies of the Official Secrets Act.

Lady Emsworth fixed him with a stare that could bore hole in granite.

Claudia looked like she was about to rugby tackle Cutter to the ground. His run-ins with various royals, minor and major were already the stuff of legend in the ARC but Cutter managed to get to Lady Emsworth first.

“Fine animal,” he said, nodding to the oddly-name Whiffle. “My aunt had a giant poodle with a lion cut. Looked much like your chap.”

Lady Emsworth beamed. “Lineage?”

“My aunt was the second cousin of the MacLeod of MacLeod. The dog was reputedly the spawn of the devil.”

Lady Emsworth’s eyes twinkled. “A good heritage on both counts. Are you some sort of secret dinosaur-hunting organisation?”

“Got it in one, ma’am.”

“Splendid! So, what’s the plan?”

Ryan and Stephen both looked at Cutter. A plan sounded like a fucking good idea.

“My assistant will continue to wave cut flowers in front of the creature. Ms Brown, of the Home Office, would, I’m sure, appreciate your assistance with keeping a lid on the inevitable social media disaster, and Captain Ryan’s men will do their best to ensure that the beastie goes in the right direction and that nothing else comes through to join the party.”

“Social media?” Lady Emsworth raised both eyebrows and her voice went up an octave with distance. “Young man, Market Blandings has 12 public houses, it has no need of social media! Unless you count the parish notice board but the dear Reverend does try to keep traffic there to a respectable minimum.

Cutter’s grin widened. “Point taken, ma’am. In which case, perhaps Whiffle could retire to his preferred hostelry and we’ll see how we get on moving the wee fella.”

Lady Emsworth bestowed a warm smile on him. “That sounds suspiciously like a plan, young man.”

“Nick Cutter, Professor Nick Cutter.”

“Whiffle and I will withdraw to the Emsworth Arms. Mr Ovens serves a particularly fine ale, so I’m led to believe.” She winked at Cutter. “His sherry is remarkably fine, as well.”

“It’s a date, ma’am.” Cutter stopped just short of bowing over her hand but it was a close-run thing.

Ryan was impressed. Claudia was gob-smacked. Stephen was grinning even more widely than Cutter. Finn and Kermit remained standing to attention. The diplodocus had recovered from its fright and was cropping the abundant water mint growing in the duck pond. In all, things could be worse.

Two heartbeats later, he regretted that statement as a loud roar from the vicinity of the anomaly put paid to his hope of a peaceful resolution to their current problems.

The creature that ran out of the anomaly was propelled by two strong hindlegs and looked like a miniature T. rex, but Ryan had attended enough of Cutter’s lectures to know that it was most probably an allosaurus, as the diplodocus was Jurassic, not Cretaceous. And the fact that he even knew things like that was enough to make him think he’d been hanging around with the scientists for far too long.

Ditzy, armed with an EMP as well as conventional weapons, didn’t hesitate. The electric charge from the heavy black rifle hit the allosaur in the chest. It recoiled and howled its annoyance and pain to anyone who cared to listen. But it stubbornly refused to retreat.

“Going up a notch!” their medic declared. The second charge was higher and this time the allosaur did step back. the anomaly closed around it, but the noise had been enough to spook the diplodocus. Shaking its head from side to side, a fear response, according to Abby, the creature backed up, sending pond water sloshing over onto the grass and splashing Fin and Kermit, who were now pointing the business end of their conventional weapons at their quarry.

“Hold your fire!” Ryan said, speaking urgently into his throat mic. “We can contain this.”

“More flowers!” Cutter demanded.

Blade, who’d been keeping to the fringes of the action, produced the sort of knife you never saw on Gardeners’ Question Time and started to cut a swathe through the nearby tubs. He presented Stephen with a bouquet that would have cost a fortune even in a motorway services.

“Didn’t know you cared,” Stephen said. “I won’t tell Lorraine if you don’t.”

“What makes you think I won’t take a bunch just as big back for her?” Blade eyes the remaining tubs speculatively.

Armed with the flowers, Stephen tried to calm the young diplodocus, but it was obvious that the creature was only a heartbeat away from total panic.

A loud snuffling snort almost broke Ryan’s concentration, but it was coming from behind him, not from the anomaly.

A large black pig, almost the size of the last entelodont the lads had barbequed, came barrelling across the green, short legs eating up the ground like a champion in the Guinea Stakes. Clods of earth flew from its hooves as the bristly snout sniffed the air. The pig, unswerving in its course, ran straight into the duck pond, ramming its pink snout hard into the diplodocus’ left flank.

The entire operation started to unravel in front of Ryan’s eyes, but he was reluctant to order the use of lethal force against a young animal and what appeared to be a prize pig. He didn’t think his reputation would survive giving an order like that. His lads were even bigger suckers for young animals than the rest of the team. Although he could see Finn and Kermit eyeing the pig rather hungrily. It had been a while since breakfast and his lot were known for an affinity with pig products. And this porker looked like it could feed the entire squad and leave enough over for cold snacks for the rest of the week. The cracking would probably be excellent.

“Oi, you lot!” A parade ground voice issued from the crowd gathered inside the door of the Emsworth Arms. “Hurt the Empress and it’s war!”

“I think he means the pig, boss!” Finn said urgently.

Ryan glanced at Cutter. “Stay clear, Professor, you know you’re not good with royalty.”

The pig butted the diplodocus hard in the arse. The larger animal started to lumber forwards, out of the pond, water and lily pads dripping off the thick, grey-green hide. The pig snorted and gave the diplodocus another resounding headbutt. The young creature got the hint and started to lumber towards the anomaly. Ryan’s lads promptly closed in around it without needing to be told, arms outstretched. Not for the first time, Ryan wondered if they could get some very large sheepdogs to do some of their work for them. He just wished the boffins at Porton Down could do something useful for once and start genetically modifying something they could use to round up stray dinosaurs. Or maybe they could use specially trained pigs…

The Empress kept up the none too gentle pressure on the dipodocus’s arse and step by large step, with Stephen and his trail of flowers in front, and the pig behind, the stray creature started to move back towards its own time.

“Don’t lose the pig!” Ryan ordered as the trio approached the shattered ball of light.

Stephen threw his armful of flowers into the anomaly. The diplodocus started to go through the anomaly until all that could be seen was its tail, and luckily, the magnetic field looked like it was still strong, or so Connor claimed, talking urgently through their headsets with the welcome news that it appeared to be stable. For a glorious moment, Ryan thought they were winning, then with a loud grunt, the pig made a dash into the light as well.

The cry of “Empress!” drowned out Stephen’s more graphic comment.

Finn and Kermit interpreted Ryan’s order literally and ran into the anomaly.

Before Ryan had chance to issue any orders or curse his two soldiers into the middle of next week, the anomaly pulsed again and the two young soldiers came back, even faster than they’d gone, with the Empress on their heels. She butted Finn in the arse and sent him flying. Kermit demonstrated an impressive ability to change direction, but the pig was faster. A heartbeat later, Kermit leapfrogged the pig in a manoeuvre that would have put a Russian gymnast or a Minoan bull-leaper to shame.

“Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!” The cry echoed around the village green, ricocheting between the walls of multiple pubs and the chocolate-box houses that clustered in between the pubs. “Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!”

The Empress stopped in her tracks and grunted loudly.

A tall, red-headed man staggered out of the Goat and Feathers – Ryan had to look twice to be sure of the name, but the sign was quite explicit – and started to weave his way across the green towards the pig.

The Empress stared in devotion at the man then trotted towards him and sat at his feet like a large and rather improbable dog.

“That’s ‘ow you talk to pigs,” the man declared, addressing himself to Stephen, who was looking as baffled as Ryan felt.

“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Stephen said.

“Wellbeloved,” the man retorted.

“I imagine she is,” Cutter commented, trying to be diplomatic and keep a grin off his face. As usual, he failed to pull that off and ended up looking in need of an enema. Diplomacy wasn’t the Scotsman’s strongest suit.

The man rolled his eyes. They looked as wobbly as the rest of him. “George Cyril Wellbeloved. ‘is Lordship’s pig man.”

He stuck his hand out. Stephen shook it, not even flinching at the colour of the large paw that looked like it might recently have been closely acquainted with pig muck. Stephen’s close relationship with dung was something that Ryan preferred not to think too much about. Wellbeloved started to weave his way unsteadily across the green, the Empress at his heels. They looked to be on collision course with Lady Emsworth and Whiffle.

“Get a perimeter round that anomaly. Connor, how long are we going to be struck with it for?” Ryan asked.

Connor shrugged. “It’s a strong one, could be a while.”

“We need the circus tent!”

Ryan looked approving at Abby. He swore she had more common sense than the rest of the team put together.

Moving the big top from the field near the castle to the village green took an hour, and all Claudia’s already over-stretched charm. The inhabitants of Market Blandings threw themselves into the job like contestants in a reality TV game show undergoing the weirdest team-building exercise in history. Copious quantities of alcohol were involved, supplied in an endless stream by the various hostelries in the village. Ryan approved of a village with twelve pubs. More shouting than a crowd-control exercise kept things moving, with Ditzy in thick of it to prevent too many minor – or major – injuries. A series of suggestions from Cutter were largely ignored and it quickly became abundantly clear that Stephen had always been the one to put up the tent on their various field trips.

The final guy rope was hammered into place, and a loud cheer went up from the locals standing around the candy-striped tent looking on admiringly.

“Drinks are on us!” Claudia announced loudly, gesturing expansively at the various pubs around the green where trays of beer were already being set down on some hastily erected trestle tables. “Thank you all for your help!”

“Think nothing of it, dear girl!” Lady Emsworth declared. “I think the Empress has taken quite a shine to your young man over there.”

Ryan’s eyes widened in amazement at the site of the large black pig sitting at Finn’s feet gazing up at him adoringly while her handler appeared to be regaling the young soldier with some long and complicated anecdote about the Empress. Ryan just hoped that Finn wouldn’t ask for a packet of pork scratchings.

“He likes pigs,” Ryan said, with perfect truth.

“Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!” Finn yodelled.

“Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!” chorused the inhabitants of Market Blanding, twice as loud and in several different keys. “Pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey!”


End file.
